


NaNoWriMo Horrorfest 2017

by ZippyWharrgarbl



Category: Bionicle - All Media Types
Genre: Horror, NaNoWriMo, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 10:21:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16473725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZippyWharrgarbl/pseuds/ZippyWharrgarbl
Summary: A collection of short stories I wrote as part of NaNoWriMo 2017, which I forgot to go through and fix up.





	1. Tale I: Midak

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a bunch of Bionicle horror oneshots last year for NaNoWriMo and forgot to edit and post them. What better time to post them than Halloween? This is a selection of the better ones to come out of the exercise.
> 
> Horror is one of my favourite genres, so I thought it'd be fitting to make my first set of stories here in that genre. Also, sorry in advance if they're a bit messy- they've had a once-over at best in terms of editing. And some might be weaker than others, I typically wrote one a night.
> 
> I'll add content warnings in the notes at the start of every chapter. If you think more should be added, don't be shy! Let me know and I'll add them.
> 
> Content warnings for Midak: mild cosmic horror.

If you walk along the border between Po-Wahi and Onu-Wahi, you might see an Onu-Matoran, tending to Ussal crabs and chewing a stalk of grass. He’ll greet you warmly, and though he might seem odd, he’ll come off as nice enough for you to ignore that.

 

The longer you’re with him, though, the more likely you are to notice something strange. Maybe the grass he’s chewing doesn’t look like anything that grows around there, or anywhere on the island, for  that matter. Maybe his interest in light comes off more as an infatuation or perhaps even an obsession. Or, maybe it’s the way he moves; you might suddenly feel unnerved by the movement of his mouth around the stalk he chews, the sliding motion of his eyes as he looks over the Ussal under his care, the way he stands or walks or even just rests against a wall or fence as he chats idly about the sunny, sunny day you are both enjoying. It’s never anything that would make you confront him, or speak about it to others; he’s strange, that’s all.

 

Other Onu-Matoran, though, they seem unable to stand him. You’ve never been able to find out why, not completely, but you suspect that may be because they simply don’t have an answer for you. You’ve heard whispers about strange things happening on the rare occasion the Onu-Matoran- Midak, an unusual name for a Matoran- goes underground. The villagers could just about sense his presence, he caused unease wherever he went. He seems off, they would murmur to each other, unable to put to words what it was, exactly, that was strange.

 

You were once in Onu-Koro when he arrived. You remember feeling dread wash over you mid-sentence, and in the next moment, you saw the Ussal farmer meandering towards the hut of a sick Matoran. He seemed out of place, something about his armour. No, not just his armour. It took you a moment to realise, but his armour reflected a light source that was nowhere to be found. You watched him pass under a lightstone, and you saw no shadow flit underneath him.

 

He looked back at you then, and he smiled before going on his way once more. He entered the home of the sick Matoran, and you didn’t see him leave again, but he was at his Ussal ranch again the next time you walked by. He was cheerful as ever, and spoke to you about how warm it was that day, how bright, blinding, _brilliant_.

 

The sick Matoran, you found out, had his condition flare into a dangerous fever overnight. He’s still recovering. You don’t know what it means.


	2. Tale II: Takua

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takua has been acting strange. He's looking strange, too, but at the same time, oddly familiar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha so you guys remember what happen to Av-Matoran when it's their destiny to ascend or whatever
> 
> What was even with that
> 
> Content warnings: heavy references to body horror

No one noticed when Takua became more listless. A Matoran with his head firmly in the clouds, it wasn’t unheard of for Takua to wander off from the safety of the village. But, eventually, someone caught him as he was about to wander through Ta-Koro’s gates. He was in a dreamlike state, unnaturally so, his eyes only turning to the Ta-Matoran guard who found him when he was shaken repeatedly by the shoulders. The guard led him back inside and reported the incident to the head of the guard, Jaller, a close friend of Takua’s. While at first this was treated as Takua being, well, Takua, it didn’t take long for the Chronicler to need constant supervision- and even then, he would escape from time to time, his persistence unshakable.

 

It was Jaller who found him while leading a patrol through the charred forest. Takua lay upon the sooty earth, appearing to be asleep. Jaller sighed, concern hidden in frustration, and gestured for his patrol to stop as he went to wake his friend.

 

“ _ Takua, _ ” he groused, stomping over. “Of all the places to have a nap, I…”

 

His eyes widened.

 

“Get the Turaga!” he shouted at his patrol, even as he grabbed Takua and heaved him from the ground. “Keahi, over here, help me carry him!”

 

“Oh, Great Spirit, what’s wrong with his-”

 

“I said, help me lift him!”

 

Keahi only hesitated momentarily in lifting Takua’s legs, and with Jaller holding Takua’s shoulders, they raced for the Ta-Koro drawbridge. Jaller was relieved to see Turaga Vakama, Kapura at his side, being the fastest of the Guard present and the first to reach home.

 

“Form a wall,” Jaller barked to the Guard that remained with him and Keahi. “Give us some space.”

 

Vakama effortlessly shouldered between the guards, and- with some protesting from Jaller, gone ignored- took Takua from them, throwing his firestaff aside. Jaller ran beside his Turaga, dread drawing his frustration away.

 

“What happened?” Vakama asked Jaller, though his eyes danced between Takua’s condition and the direction of the healer’s hut, barely flickering between the two to the Captain of the Guard.

 

“He was lying in the forest when we found him. Turaga, what’s wrong with him?”

 

The Turaga did not reply, instead hurrying into the healer’s hut. “Maka, come here, quickly!”

 

A red Ruru looked up at him from a just-completed suture, and Maka all but ran over at the horrible sight. “Oh, Great Spirit!”

 

He jabbed a finger at an empty bed, and Vakama lay Takua down; but, as soon as Takua rested flat, his body warped further, flattened hands becoming flatter, fingers shortening and fusing, neck lengthening and developing a sharp bend in the middle, as if broken. Vakama scooped him up again and turned to Maka. “Do you have anything that can treat this?”

 

Maka looked just as horrified as everyone else. “N-No, the Ga-Matoran mostly taught me how to fix burns and breaks. I’ll see what I have, but…”

 

“Send a message to Ga-Koro,” Jaller barked at Keahi, who had tailed behind seemingly out of shock. “Get a healer. Someone has to know how to fix this.”

 

Keahi, seemingly relieved that he had something to do that wasn’t in Takua’s presence, saluted and ran. Jaller turned back to Vakama. “You… You don’t know what this is, do you, Turaga?”

 

“I’m sorry, Jaller. I’ve never seen anything like it before. But, I am no healer. Do not lose hope just yet; we will help Takua.”

 

~

 

Days passed. Turaga Nokama herself came to speak to Turaga Vakama in private. Jaller would have insisted on joining them, but when Vakama had been unable to lift Takua any longer, Jaller had taken over. While they conversed in quiet tones by the Sacred Fire, far from the healer’s hut, Jaller sat, clutching Takua to rest sitting up on his lap. They had made the discovery early that Takua only changed when lying flat on a surface. Jaller’s eyelids drooped, his arms ached, his every instinct begged him to lie down and rest. But, already, Takua’s torso was swollen and misshapen, his head elongated, seams forming along the sides that he feared would open, lolled over his shoulder from a long, kinked neck. Jaller had fallen asleep once already, and he wouldn’t let it happen again. Couldn’t.

 

Vakama eventually convinced him to sleep, taking over Takua’s care. He explained, the Turaga were going to meet and attempt to find answers to Takua’s affliction. Jaller tried to protest, not wanting Takua out of his sight, but exhaustion overtook him the moment Vakama gently pried Takua from his arms. When he woke from his heavy, dreamless slumber, he tried to go about his duties as normal, but fear clutched at his heart like nothing else had.

 

Vakama returned with Toa Tahu and Toa Gali. Tahu was cradling Takua in his mighty arms, hesitant to look at him but holding him all the same. Jaller ran to them immediately. “Takua! Is he…?”

 

Gali knelt to speak to Jaller, mask to mask. “I am going to try and heal him, Jaller. We will do what we can.”

 

“You needed my Toa Power as well as your own,” Tahu grumbled. The worry crackled under his gruff tone like embers in charred wood. “And the Chronicler can’t lie down.”

 

“I’ll hold him,” Jaller said, to be silenced by a hand on his shoulder.

 

Vakama smiled down to him. “You are brave, Jaller, and I know you would do anything to help your friend. But, the process is… intense, to say the least. I will hold him steady.”

 

Jaller looked up at Takua, who, due to Tahu’s height, looked like an oddly folded Rahi. He nodded, stiffly, and Vakama patted his shoulder. “Have faith, Jaller. We will heal the Chronicler.”

 

~

 

As the Toa prepared for the procedure, Jaller did something he rarely had reason to do; he sat upon his home’s floor, deep in meditation, and he reached out to the Great Spirit, pleading for his friend’s recovery. He later saw the process, watched as Vakama clutched the Chronicler upright and tensed in silent agony from the power of fire and water combined, but when it was over, Takua remained a twisted, misshapen creature, no feature restored, not even a gleam of awareness in his eyes.

 

Jaller called in a favour from a trusted and mutual friend of his and Takua’s, and left him in the care of Hahli as Vakama and the Toa left to discuss other solutions. None seemed hopeful, not when they thought Jaller wasn’t present, at least. To him, they echoed the same empty sentiment: they would help the Chronicler, though they had failed before, and were exhausting their options. He had, he felt, one other option, provided the Great Spirit himself wasn’t going to descend from the heavens.

 

He hadn’t told Hahli where he was going. Hahli seemed to know anyway, and had warned him that she was going after him if he didn’t return within three days. He had given her a tired smile, one that waned as his eyes were drawn to Takua, resting against her shoulder. He said his farewells, named a member of the Guard to act in his stead, and left.

 

He might have been betraying the Great Spirit in doing what he did. And, he had no reason to think he wouldn’t be rebuffed, or worse. But, he had to do something. He didn’t know the way, not exactly, but he walked until he found it.

 

A pair of tall, iron doors, rusted and grimy, surrounded by thick, unyielding stone, his lightstone barely cutting through the shadows. He was surprised he had gotten this far. Perhaps he was expected. It didn’t matter now.

 

He raised his hand, took a breath, and knocked.


	3. Tale III: Jerbraz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lmao bye Jerbraz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these were character suggestions from friends, though I can't for the life of me remember who requested what.
> 
> Content warnings: body horror

It was his outsides first. That’s how he knew something was wrong. Nothing was meant to happen at this stage of the procedure, not yet. But, despite this, he was seeing muscle where there should have been armour, pistons and wires and pulses of energy pounding, free from the confines of his skin. Then, those started disappearing too, their edges blurring and fading as if only painted on, tested against rain.

 

“Help,” he whispered. He didn’t want to admit fear, or a need for help, but that was outweighed by the sight of his internal scaffolding. His voice raised, first to ensure he was heard, then out of panic, until it became a scream as he was suddenly able to see inside his own heartlight. “Help! Help! Oh, Great Spirit, help me!”

 

He heard movement, but it stopped when a stern, authoritative voice commanded, “Leave him. If you touch him, you could disappear, too.”

 

Jerbraz had read plenty of stories in which risks like these were well worth taking for a friend. This did not seem to be such a story. He screamed, even as his lungs were neatly bisected by the spreading disappearance, and it made no  _ sense _ , he wouldn’t be able to breathe or scream, he shouldn’t be alive, why was he alive?

 

He wasn’t sure what went last. He closed his eyes, until his eyelids disappeared, and then he just didn’t look. The walls, the roof, anywhere but down, at what was left. Lying on the metallic berth, sword clutched in his hands- he’d be  _ damned  _ if he was going to go through with this alone, he insisted on his sword- and knowing his existence was coming to an unusual end, he tried to make peace with Mata Nui.

 

He took one ragged, shaking breath. Then, another. He wasn’t dead. Fear ebbed into dread. Was it over? Had it worked?

 

“Where did he go?” Helryx asked the technician sitting at a console beside her. He gave a hopeless shrug, so Jerbraz figured he may as well answer.

 

“I’m... still here.”


End file.
